I saw her face for the first time
on a day when the wind itself decided
to play among the streets of London
I was looking from the inside out
hills and valleys shaped my skin
and all I could do was stare and look
away from there I fled to another
scene of sunkissed reasons to move
to California.
Later when all went quiet I found
myself in a mirror staring at her
once more with different eyes
seeing what she could not
possibly know about herself as
I challenged my thoughts I took
a walk in the park down my street
where local dogs walk their owners
insisting they exercise.
After some time I returned to the
sanctury of my soul so revived
I sat down once more recalling her
on a piece of paper I spoke out loud
"You are beautiful"

It catches me by surprise,

a blow to the chin

but the river softens my fall.

I feel it now, the damp,

seeping through my clothes

willing me to stand,

the water running by me,

without a care for the load

it now carries.

Her face fills the space ahead

contorted, distorted, unknown

she offers her hand and

eases me from my pit of despair.

She does not speak a word,

nor do I, but I wrap my fingers

around hers and breath deeply.

It is the last time I feel her touch

upon mine. Her eyes tell a story of

dysphoria and as I breath once more,

I know.

It is the end.